Behind Black Eyes
by Snapelover1
Summary: My first fanfic, set in CoS after the Duelling Club meeting, with a different perspective, our Potions Master. As yet incomplete. Please be kind, and R&R!


Glass shattered as it collided with the marble floor outside of the Great Hall. In his rage, Professor Snape smashed a bust of Goderick Gryffindor as he stormed away from the Duelling Club meeting. Not to mention that insufferable git Lockhart.  
  
Students milling round outside were immediately seized by Snape's abrupt appearance, which was enough to frighten anyone not hailing from Slytherin House. But now his black eyes consumed in fiery rage and his imposing figure were enough to turn anyone to stone.  
  
Students inside the Great Hall heard the commotion too, and had seen what set him off. Professor Snape was no one's assistant, especially not to that pretentious fop withholding his coveted Dark Arts position.   
  
Those close enough to him during the meeting knew that Snape was not amused by Lockhart's presumption to be more skilful and knowledgeable, especially when Snape had offered to diffuse the snake. Deep within the students they were terrified at what horrors Snape might inflict, yet this time, more than one was filled with quiet awe.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed out of the Hall to witness Snape's fervid exit along the great marble corridors.   
  
"Ugh, he's done it again! Someone tries to show him up and he loses it. Lockhart is daft, but Snape's just insufferable," Ron observed in disgust. "I reckon we'll be getting double assignments in Potions tomorrow."  
  
"Or triple," Harry added. But he was rather more concerned by what Snape thought of his ability to speak with snakes. Does he think I'm a Slytherin? Is he secretly envious of my parselmouth? Harry was rarely more intimidated by one person than at that moment.  
  
But bizarreness punctured Harry's thoughts.  
  
"Wouldn't you be upset too if someone stood in your way at getting what you wanted? And nearly embarrassed you in front of your students?" Hermione interjected defensively.  
  
Harry and Ron looked at each other as if Hermoine had sprouted three heads.   
  
"Oh don't tell me you've got a thing for Snape now too?!" Ron shouted in dismay, looking as though he'd sick up right there.  
  
"Are you going to put a picture of him under your pillow as well?" Harry chided amusedly. If the thought of a romantic Snape wasn't so disgusting to Harry, he'd find it funny.  
  
"I just think he doesn't get a fair chance all the time, that's all! Stop it, you two!" Hermione had turned a hundred shades of red, and everyone within earshot was listening and staring confusedly.  
  
"Come on, Hermione, let's go back to the dormitories--I think you could use a rest," Harry comforted. Eager to flee her mortification, Hermione joined Harry and Ron and left the foyer of the Great Hall for Gryffindor Tower.  
  
  
  
***  
  
Undulating black velvet grazed the air and the ancient marble floors of the great corridors of Hogwarts as Snape made his winding way to the Dungeons.  
  
Snape besieged his chambers as he thrust open the entrance. He was so blind with wrath that he wouldn't have noticed if his quarters had been covertly redecorated in soft pastels. Almost.  
  
He plunged himself into a rather uncomfortable Prussian benchseat. The glow from the fireplace danced on his pale skin as he fumed over yet another underappreciation of his abilities.  
  
Insufferable git. Those words had echoed in his thoughts since that imbecile had labelled him his assistant. Bloody affectatious fop.  
  
There were wizards that Severus could not abide. And unfocussed, undisciplined, affected dandies were quickly shooting their way up to the top of the list. Even that Potter brat didn't pretend to be as celebrated a hero as Lockhart. Potter wasn't even that great a student, he mused. What was interesting was his sudden parseltongue ability. That would require some examination. Perhaps Potter wasn't as maddeningly wholeso--  
  
A knock ruptured Snape's introspection.   
  
Blast, he cursed.  
  
Snape made surreptitious motions to the door. He mock-curiously creaked open the entrance, revealing the diminutive Neville Longbottom.  
  
The professor's sallow, unreadable face was obscured in shadows, towering above him, and Neville was seized with terror.  
  
"Uh, I, uh--" Neville began,  
  
"Yes?" Snape let out a draughty sigh.  
  
Neville's face was blank.  
  
"Do you have some reason for interrupting my solitude, Mr," Snape paused wrenchingly, "Long-bottom?"  
  
"I, I wanted to ask you about my make-up potions assignment--from the one I messed up. There's no flobberworm mucus in the students' cupboards, and--"  
  
"Did you really come here to ask me about mucus, Longbottom?" Snape cocked an eyebrow, and his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Neville was sunscorched.  
  
A pause followed so tortuous that Neville felt as if the butterflies in his stomach had begun gnawing at his stomach lining.  
  
"Meet me at half past seven tomorrow morning--leave breakfast early--and I'll have you your mucus." Snape offered.  
  
Neville looked as if he hadn't really expected Snape to help him at all. Why must he bother now if he's not earnest in his endeavour? He's not Granger after all, Snape mused.  
  
"Is there anything else?"  
  
"Uh, no professor...Thank you professor." Longbottom was looking even slower today, Severus sniggered to himself.  
  
"Just don't be late." With that, Snape flung the door shut and returned to his solitude.  
  
Bewildered, Neville was still frozen in his spot.  
  
"I don't know whether to laugh or cry."  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape sat uncomfortably in his usual spot at the teacher's table in the Great Hall for luncheon the next day. This day was not very obliging. That dullard Longbottom had been late to collect the flobberworm. Was it his usual incompetence, or was something holding him back? Bloody Gryffindors. A slight feeling of needed superiority washed over him, and a smile crossed his face. Fearing someone might behold his 'levity' he quickly annihilated it.  
  
He peered down the long table, and noticed that Mr Perfect Smile was decidedly absent. Maybe he was still bruised from the thrashing he gave him yesterday. Or perhaps he was too proud to be in my presence so soon. Severus' heart lept a bit, and he desperately tried to suppress another smirk.  
  
Besting Lockhart after he belittled him felt so marvellous.  
  
Severus glanced at the student body. There was Longbottom, looking particularly daft. At the Slytherin Table was Crabbe. Or was it Goyle? I can't even remember any more--they're interchangeable, Severus reflected. Crabbeorgoyle was stuffing his face. Quel supris. Were the requirements so slack that scheming for more sweets qualified as cunning?  
  
Sitting next to Crabbeorgoyle was Malfoy. Finally, a student worthy of his Slytherin pedigree. But he could be a bit of a sycophant in Potions.  
  
The door to the Great Hall opened discreetly and in came Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They proceeded gingerly to the Gryffindor table. 


End file.
